


Finding You Can Change; Learning You Were Wrong

by BlametheCupcake



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:22:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlametheCupcake/pseuds/BlametheCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Beauty and the Beast crossover with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bonjour

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-ninth year. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

-

The door to the odd but well kept cottage sprung open and short blond man with a shy smile and blue eyes that shined with curiosity stepped out into the beautiful day clutching a book to his blue sweater clad chest. His feet were well familiar with the path that would take him to the quaint little village that he and his sister had recently moved to. As beautiful as the scenic countryside was and as friendly as the people were, especially in comparison to the last village he and his sister had lived in, he couldn’t help but be bored with the sleepy little town and feel as if he was missing out on some grand adventure. Maybe one day when Harry no longer needed him he could go off on his own and make his own story.

“Good morning, John,” Called the baker, walking past with his tray like he did every morning, selling his goods to those he passed in the streets.

“Good morning, sir.” He called back politely.

“And where are you off to?” The baker asked walking next to the young man as they headed further into town.

With an excited smile, John pulled the book away from his chest and flipped it open to the first few pages. “The bookshop; I just got done reading the most exciting story, about a beanstalk and an ogre and...”

“That’s nice,” The baker said, setting his tray down in the open window of his bakery. “Marie; the baguettes! Hurry up!”

John smiled and drifted off. The baker did not mean to be rude, but he had noticed in this town people were very set in their routine and not exactly open to new ideas. Indeed the only person who seemed to share his passion for reading and knowledge was the bookshop owner. John was aware many people in the town thought him odd, but he didn’t mind. Here the people were friendly and tolerant of him and that was all he needed, the approval of closed-minded country folk was not something he craved.

As he walked through the town he watched the locals greet each other and gossip about who knows what, just like everyday. Nothing ever seemed to change in the sleepy little village. A carriage passed by and John hopped onto the back knowing that it would take him past the book shop, just like every day. “Really there must be more than this provincial life.” He sighed to himself as he hopped off and strode into the bookshop.

“Ah, John,” The wizened old book seller said as John stepped into the shop causing the little bell over the door to ring merrily.

“Good morning. I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.” The blond held out the book to the one man in town who was actually shorter than him. Just another reason he liked the man.

“You finished already?” The old bookseller chuckled and watched as John hopped up on the ladder and started scanning the shelves of books.

“Oh I couldn’t put it down. Do you have anything new?” John’s eyes shone hopefully since new books were a rare treat here. The book seller laughed merrily and set the book in the window with the other new arrivals John had already read. “Not since yesterday.”

“That’s alright. I’ll borrow...this one.” John reached out for a familiar blue covered book and handed it down to the book seller.

“That one?” The book seller asked, holding the book back so he could read the cover while adjusting his glasses. “But you’ve read it twice!” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice as he observed his best customer.

“Well it’s my favourite!” John said, swinging off the side of the ladder and sending it rolling down the bookcase. “Far off places, sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!” He jumped off the ladder and skipped back to the old book seller by the door, who was still chuckling over the boy’s enthusiasm. What could John say, he was a romantic at heart and some of his choice reading material was better suited to that of a teenage girl, but he loved it none the less. Fortunately the book seller was a kind man and never laughed or questioned his taste. The old man placed the book back in the boy’s hands and smiled. “Well if you like it all that much, then it’s yours.”

“But sir!”

“I insist.” He said, cutting off John’s protest, and he knew he had made the right decision when the young man practically glowed with happiness.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” John left, opening his beloved book to the first page. Despite knowing the words by heart he couldn’t resist reading as he walked instead of waiting until he got home- which probably would have been the safer option.

Despite having his nose stuck in a book John masterfully weaved his way through the crowd, dodging and threading his way around people. An oncoming flock of sheep presented no problem as he stepped up onto the edge of a fountain and sat down. One curious sheep poked his head next to John and his book. “Oh, isn’t this amazing! It’s my favourite part because, you’ll see. This is where she meets Prince Charming, but she won’t discover that it’s him until chapter three.”

The shepherded came and herded John’s audience so he got up and keep moving.

 

“That one,” Jim Moriarty said, pointing out one of the ducks flying overhead. A shot followed a moment later and the bird fell out of the sky and landed at their feet Another man picked up the fowl and held it up for inspection. “Ooh, very nice Sebastian. I knew there was a reason I kept you around despite painfully slow brain function.”

Sebastian Moran was far too used to such insults and decided just nod his head in thanks to the back handed compliment. Besides, no one was even close to his boss when it came to intelligence. It was an accomplishment to be deemed worthy of Jim’s company since he was the only person in the village that the genius could stand to be around for any length of time. Well, that was not necessarily true. There was one other person Jim wanted to be around, and it just so happened it was the one person who he couldn't charm, bribe, or manipulate. Sebastian’s opinion the two things correlated, and yes he did know what correlated meant thank you very much. He did do more than just shoot things, you know.

“There he is!” Moriarty said, gesturing to where a blond man was walking towards them with his nose stuck in a book.

“The inventor’s brother?” Sebastian asked, playing dumb. Sebastian he just couldn’t see what his boss found so fascinating about the short blond man. Sure he was good looking but there were others in the town Jim could get with much less effort. Those jumpers John wore were fetching on him though. But other than that Sebastian understand it, and he certainly wasn’t jealous of the attention Jim gave him. Certainly not.

Jim let out a loud breath of air and rolled his eyes before gesturing back to the unsuspecting man. “Yes, that’s the one.” He said in that tone made it sound like he was explaining something obvious to a dumb child. “The lucky man I’m going to marry!”

“But-”

“The most beautiful boy in town.”

“I know-”

“And that makes him the best. And don’t I deserve the best?” His voice went from sickening sweet to a vicious hiss as he turned his eyes to Moran and just dared him to disagree.

“Well of course!” Sebastian said, trying to backtrack and save himself from a potentially deadly situation. He was the best hunter in all of the country, possibly the world, but not even that made him irreplaceable. “I mean you do, but I mean-”

“Shut up Moran. Listening to you’re stupidity gives me a headache.” Luckily those cold eyes turned away from him and back to John Watson. Jim walked over to him, putting in place his most charming, and only partially fake, smile. “Hello John.”

The young man turned his blue eyes to Jim and gave a slight smile. “Good morning, Jim.”

Moriarty snatched the book from his hands and ran his eyes over its contents before scoffing. “How do you read this drivel?” He asked, throwing the book over his shoulder and into a puddle of mud. “

“Well...” John said looking down at his book slowly sinking before bending down to save it from a muddy death.

“It’s so cute. You with your little ickle brain trying so hard to surpass your limitations, though your choice in materials shows just how spectacularly you are failing. Still you must be given credit for trying, unlike the rest of these over grown primates.I do just adore that about you.” Jim beamed at him.

“Uh...” John said, trying to not to look distinctly uncomfortable as he brushed mud off his book. He failed miserably.

“I mean-” Moriarty said quickly. “-that is a fetching sweater you are wearing.”

John blinked at him for a moment. “Thank... you…?” He replied hesitantly, his eyes drifted over Jim’s shoulder to where his home and safety lay. If only he could get past him.

Seeing the thoughts that ran through John’s adorably small mind, Jim put an arm around his shoulder and started dragging him in the opposite direction. “What do you say I take you over to the tavern and show you all the things I’ve had Moran kill for me?”

“Um, maybe some other time.” John said, ducking under his arm and backing away. Behind him Moran and several of the town bimbettes stared in open-mouthed shock that anyone dared refuse Moriarty, and seethed about the fact that the man actually had Jim’s favour and was turning it down. “I’m sorry but I have to get home and help my sister.”

“Ha! That crazy old drunk needs all the help she can get.” Moran scoffed, unable to keep quiet, coming to stand next to Jim, who snickered in amusement. Sebastian felt warmth bloom in his chest and he beamed at the fact he was able to make Jim laugh.

“Don’t talk about my sister that way!” John snapped, glaring daggers at Moran, not at all intimidated by the man’s reputation. That was the one thing Sebastian respected about the man, he was as brave as he was beautiful.

“Yea! Don’t talk about his sister that way!” Jim said, turning to glare at him as well. The warmth quickly turned to boiling rage.

“Harry isn’t crazy or a drunk! She’s a genius!” John continued. At the term ‘genius’ Jim looked at him with fond amusement and probably would probably have said something else but an explosion from the house cut him off.

“Harry!” John cried and took off running for the house. Moran laughed heartily, but Jim was too busy staring at John’s arse to join in.


	2. Interlude 1

_Sherlock could not remember the last time he had been in a haze such as the one he was experiencing without it being chemically induced. How long he had been sitting there he wasn't sure, was shocking, but it had been long enough that his body was shutting down with his permission. It was not comparable to how long he could normally run without sleep, but the last few days had taken their toll on him, though not nearly as much as on John. The entire pool incident had been a nightmare, starting with seeing John in the one place in the world Sherlock hadn't wanted him, and ending with the explosion. Due to where he had been standing, Sherlock had been thrown into the pool, and by the time he had emerged he had been half drowned and concussed. John had it much worse. He had not been as close to the water and so when the bomb went off he had been thrown onto concrete and tile instead of water._

 _By the time he had crawled out of the pool and through the dust and haze, he knew that something was wrong. John wasn't answering. It wasn't just the ringing in the ears that was drowning out all noise, he knew it. When ever someone said 'they had a gut feeling' Sherlock would be the first to scoff, but as he stumbled through the wrecked build, he just knew that something was wrong with John. In the end he had nearly tripped over the doctor before he even saw him. The man had looked like death._

 _His entire body was covered in a thick layer of grey concrete dust covered him and the only thing that made him stand out from his surroundings was the blood. A circle of red surrounded his head and gave the illusion of some bloody halo. There were other spots on his body that were bleeding, but none as much or as seriously as his head. While he did not know much of medicine he did know the risks of head and spinal injuries and as much as it pained him, he knew he could not move John. It was physically painful in more ways than one as he stumbled out of the building, leaving John behind while he went for help. Sherlock wouldn't loose him though; he had left himself a trail. At some point during his trek to find John he had cut his hand and it was bleeding heavily, it was perfect. As he stumbled along the corridors and hallways trying to get outside he had dragged his injured hand across the walls, leaving a bright red line that would lead him back to his unconscious friend._

 _By the time he had made it outside he had been stumbling with pain and exhaustion, not to mention gasping for air that wasn't clouded with dust. Help arrived not long after that, for which he had been thankful. He had not been as thankful when they loaded him into an ambulance and refused to let him go back in, or even wait outside, for John. Luckily he had enough time to tell the first officer on the scene that he had left them a trail that would lead them to a wounded man. Not even they were blind enough to miss it._

 _Over all he had got off lucky. Some stitches for his hand and a few other small wounds, a concussion, a broken wrist, and, finally, a compromised airway thanks to all the dust he had inhaled. He woke up in his hospital bed bandaged and with a nasal cannula, but what had arrested his attention was the man in the bed next to him. John was covered in bandages but the worst part was the tube down his throat and the machine that had to manually pump air into him. Sherlock’s first thought upon seeing John was that he had killed him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters have been editted so I went back and replaced them with the nice clean version. From here on out the story will be editted and brit picked for easier reading. Enjoy.


	3. His Little Wife

“Harry!” John called, frantically throwing the door to the cellar.

“How?! God dammit I quit!” Harry’s yelled through the haze of smoke. John waved his hand in front of his face to try and clear the air as he walked further into the room to find his sister. “Harry, are you alright?”

“No! I’ll never get this stupid thing to work, I quit!” She yelled back and he heard the sound of glass shattering.

He caught her hand as she was about to throw another bottle and gave her a soft smile. “You always say that.”

“Well I mean it this time. I’ll never get this stupid distiller to work!” Harry huffed and nudged the machine with her toe.

“Yes you will.” He said encouragingly. “And you will win first prize at the brew festival tommorw.”

“Humph!”

“And become a world famous distiller.”

“You really believe that?” She asked, turning big watery eyes on her baby brother.

“I always have.” He replied, pulling her into a hug.

"Then what are we waiting for? I'll have this thing working in no time!" Grinning happily, Harry threw herself back under the machine and held out a hand. "Hand me that dog legged clincher thing. So did you have a good time in town today?"

John shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I got a new book. Harry, do you think I'm odd?"

Harry popped back out from under the distiller, eyes distorted, the goggles she was wearing giving them a magnified appearance. "My brother? Odd? Where would you get an idea like that? I'm sorry Johnny but you're as average as they come."

Again John sighed heavily. "Oh I don't know, I just don't think I fit in here. There is no one to talk too."  
"And what about Jim? He seems like a nice fellow. And he's hot, totally your type." Harry said, going back to work with renewed vigour.

"Oh he's handsome alright, and rude, and conceited, and thinks I'm an idiot. For some reason he thinks I can't hear him when he insults me... Oh Harry, he's not for me."

"Well don't you worry, because this machine is going to be the start of a new life for us. We'll move away and I'll start my own brewery; we'll never have to worry about money ever again." Once again Harry appeared from underneath the machine. "There, I think that’s done it. Now, let’s give it a try."

She flipped switch and the machine started up with a slow whirl of parts until they steadily built up speed and the steam whistle blew, announcing that the distiller was running full speed. Parts spun, and bellows… well...bellowed, feeding the fire under the barrel that held the alcohol. Finally a wooden arm lowered, and a clear liquid ran down the trough and poured into a waiting bottle. Once the bottle got close to overflowing the arm was raised and another arm sprang down and popped a cork into the bottle before moving back into place. A final piece of the machine swung out and pushed the bottle into an awaiting crate and moved an empty bottle into place for the process to start all over again.

"It works!" John cried in delight.

"It does? It does!" The excited woman turned and threw herself into her brother’s arms. The two siblings hugged in triumph and watched the machine work and not explode. It was a beautiful sight. "Hitch up Phillipe, boy. I'm off to the fair!"

After that it was a flurry of activity between loading up the machine and hitching up Phillipe, but eventually his sister was dressed in her travelling clothes and on her way.

"Goodbye, Harry! Good luck!" He called out to his sister, waving as she disappeared over the horizon.

"Good bye, John, and take care while I'm gone!" Her voice called back faintly, barely heard over the distance. They may have always had their differences but John stayed there long after she left, only returning to the now empty home when it got too cold and dark to endure it any longer.   
-  
A knock on the door drew John's attention. He marked the page, closed his book, and getting up from his favourite armchair. Harry, with all her cleverness, had invented a handy little device that worked a sort of peep hole and allowed them to see who was outside without having to answer the door. This time, to his shock and dismay, that the person turned out to be Jim Moriarty.

What could that man possible want now? He had already nearly ruined John's book that day and who knew if he would have been able to escape at all if it hadn’t been for that well timed explosion on Harry's part. Still, Jim had never come to his house before, so perhaps it was important. As much as he wanted to, John couldn't pretend not to be home. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he opened the door.

"Jim, what a pleasant surprise." He lied. Jim stepped into the room and John automatically stepped backwards to keep a distance between them. Unfortunately Jim decided to let himself in quite a ways, strutting in wearing a very expensive looking suit, which was saying something since the man usually dressed impeccably anyways.

"Isn't it though? I am sooo unpredictable." Jim kept coming closer and forcing John farther back into the room.

Finally he leaned against the wall and leered at John. "You know, there isn't a boy in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes. Well, not literally of course, your shoes are terrible, and is that a hole I see? Don't worry, darling, no beau of mine will be seen wearing ratty clothing. Once we're married you'll wear nothing but the finest."

At the word 'married' John's poor mind went spinning. "Married?!" He stammered in shock and prayed to anyone listening the he’d heard wrong.

"I hate repeating myself, but for you, darling, I'll do it just this one time. Yes, married. Picture it." Jim sat down in the arm chair John had recently vacated, and even went so far as to kick his feet up onto the table and John's book; tearing the pages. "We can go anywhere, Johnny dearest, any city we want. We'll get a flat with a view and only eat the finest of food while we talk about my latest plans. Don't worry, darling, you won't have to contribute, I just do so love an audience, and then finally I’ll spread you out on the nearest available surface and ravish you. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Jim removed his feet from the table and stood up to close in on him. John used the movement to snatch up his book and hold it to his chest before once again moving back away from Jim. There was something in the man’s eyes that unsettled him and urged caution. "Err." His reply was less than elegant, but it was hard to think when he was so thrown for a loop and being stalked like prey.

His back hit the bookshelf, and before he could go anywhere else Jim planted his hands on either side of his head, effectively blocking him in. "I know this must be such a shock for your tiny mind to process." Jim said softly, leaning in so close that their noses nearly touched.

At first all he could do was stare wide eyed at his would-be husband but his brain kicked in and he slipped under the man's arm and made for the door. His back once again hit wood and he felt frantically for the knob. "Jim, this is such a surprise. I really don't know what to say."

Once again Jim came up to pin him, but this time he pressed his full body up against him so John could feel his hardness pressed against his thigh. It took all his will power not to push the man away. "Just say you'll marry me and the world will be yours."

"I'm sorry; Jim, but I just don't deserve you!" Finally he found the door handle and turned it while stepping backwards. Without the other body to brace him, Jim stumbled forward and off the porch, right into little pond that had been meant for fish until Harry had forgotten to feed them and they died. As he slammed the door shut he could hear the sound of music, but decided not to dell on it as he hurriedly turned the key and drew a breath of relief.

Luckily Jim did not come back and he was left alone. The solitude was not peaceful however, since he was far to infuriated to go back to his book. John waited a good forty minutes until he peeked out the door and looked around to make sure his unwanted suitor was gone. Seeing the coast clear, John stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the bucket of chicken feed before stomping over to where the animals were kept. "Can you believe it? He actually asked me to marry him. Me, the husband of that pompous, arrogant, high pitched little-" Well, actually Jim was taller then him, but still! "Mister Moriarty, can't you just see it? Mister John Moriarty, his little husband, ugh. Nu-hu, no way, I guarantee it's not happening. Ugh!"

After throwing a few handfuls of the feed to the chickens, he kicked the bucket over and stormed off to the field. It was the place where he would go and read on sunny days, or go to clear his head when Harry was being insufferable. His hill gave him a good view of the mountains and he liked to dream of what was beyond them. He didn't need someone like Jim to take him away; he could do it on his own. There had to be more to the world than this little village and he planned to find out what it was. Apparently he was going to have to go on his own as since nobody in this village seemed to understand him. Or was an obsessive stalker intent on making him a possession.

His thoughts were drawn away by the sounds of a horse thundering towards him. Phillipe charged up to him and John quickly grabbed the reins, horrified to see the horse without a rider. All thoughts of Jim or wonderful adventures were cast aside as John undid the harness and carriage and climbed onto the horse. "Take me to Harry, Phillipe."


	4. Interlude II

_Brain swelling due to trauma, the doctors had said. John’s body had been able to breath on its own, albeit with difficulty, but the breathing tube took the unnecessary strain off him and allowed his body time and extra energy to heal. Time was needed to see if there was a chance at recovery and if John was going to come out of his coma. They told him not to give up hope._

 _Sherlock didn't deal in hope. Facts were the tools he used to see and understand the world and so he left hope for those who could not think their way through life. It was with these facts that he knew that the chance that John would wake up was slime, and even if he did it would most likely be with some sort of permanent brain disorder. Was John even in there, or was this just an empty shell?_

 _No one who knew Sherlock would accuse him of being sentimental and his behaviour since waking up attested to that. He demanded answers from John's doctors, and when they could not give him a definite answer he cursed them as incompetents. Lestrade came to visit on the day he woke up and he told the DI an edited version of what had led to the explosion. Not once did he show any emotion other than anger._

 _Mycroft had stopped by and Sherlock demanded information from his brother. For his part, Mycroft had promised to bring the files so Sherlock could get to work tracking down Moriarty. He seemed eager to get out of the hospital and begin his search for the criminal mastermind and when asked about John he had simply replied there was nothing that he could do for him but get justice. It had been a thoroughly disappointing answer and Mycroft told him so._

 _It was only late at night, after the lights were out and the nurses had already done their rounds that Sherlock would get out of bed and make the short but painful journey to John's bedside were he would sit for hours not saying a word. He held John's hand the entire time.  
_


	5. Prisoner Exchange

The dark castle was looming ominously, giving John a bad feeling about the place. Still he had followed the signs of foot prints and they led him to this place. If Harry was in there then was going to have to go and get her. Hopefully they hadn't let her near the booze, or else this could get embarrassing. If she had broke something, he he doubted there was a way for them to replace it. The place was a castle after all.

He left Phillipe inside the gate and pushed open the large wooden doors to the castle."Hello? Is anyone here? Harry?" The place seemed deserted which made the situation both easier and more difficult at the same time. On one hand there was no one for Harry to make an arse out of her self in front of, but on the other, he was going to have to search the entire place to find her. Hopefully she was uninjured and just lost.

Since no one answered his calls he let himself farther into the castle and up a rather large and impressive flight of stairs. He called louder now, hoping that his sister was in a state fit to hear him. There were so many halls and rooms to check and his voice echoed between the walls. As much as he wanted to be heard, he couldn't deny that the place was creepy and he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

Suddenly a door squeaked loudly behind him and he spun around. "Harry? Harry is that you?" He asked as he ran back and through the door. "Hello?" Nobody was there, oddly enough. There was another flight of stairs though, and logically that was the only place the person could have gone so he ran up hoping to catch them."Wait, I'm looking for my sister."

"John?" A small voice said once he reached the top of the stairs.

"Harry!" He cried, running across the room and dropping to his knees by the grated door his sister was trapped behind. She reached out to him and he clasped her hand with his. "Oh Harry you're freezing."  
His poor sister coughed harshly. "John, hurry, you have to get me out of here."  
"Who did this to you?" He demanded and she shook her head.

"No time to explain, you have to get me out of here quickly." Harry pushed his hand away and looked at him with wide, desperate eyes.

"Alright I'll-"

"What are you doing here?" A voice thundered, a large hand grabbed him by the arm and flinging him away from the cell.   
John heard his sister cry out his name but he was too busy trying to catch himself to answer. The torch he had grabbed had been flung into a puddle and the fire went out, sending the room into almost complete darkness with only the faint moonlight keeping it from being pitch black. He tried to peer through the gloom, but he could see nothing. "Who are you?" He asked, hoping the reply would give him his attacker's location.

”The master of this castle.” The voice growled back. By the rustle of clothing he could tell that the man – for it was a man’s voice – was moving, but he couldn’t use the sound to locate him since the damnable echo threw off his senses. Instead he crawled back over to the door by Harry.

"I've come for my sister. Please, let her out. Can't you see she's sick?" John tried to reason even as his sister whimpered behind him.

Again that deep voice yelled at him, filled with rage and scorn. "Then she shouldn't have trespassed here!"

"But she could die!" John was starting to get desperate. The ease with which the man had flung him single-handedly showed that a fight wouldn't go his way, so the only thing he could do was bargain. "Please, I'll do anything!"

"There is nothing you can do." It was frustrating arguing with a shadow. He could see only the faintest outlines of a body, a huge, huge body, just outside the circle of moon light. The voice was filled with annoyance but at least he wasn't yelling. "She is my prisoner."

"There must be something I can do. Wait! Take me instead." John said finally, it was all he had to offer.

"You?" The voice laughed mockingly. After a moment's pause it spoke again, more thoughtfully this time. "Take her place? Hmm, interesting. You would be so self-sacrificing? And for such an obvious alcoholic?"

"Hey!" Harry objected indignantly, but it turned into a whimper as soon as the beast growled at her.

"If I did, would you let her go?" John ignored his sister, staring at the shadow just of out the circle of light.

"Yes." The deep voice growled quickly, almost as soon as John finished speaking. But you must promise to stay here forever."

John squared his shoulders and prepared himself for anything. "Come into the light."

A large furry, clawed foot slid into the light. The foot was followed by a large and equally furry body swathed in a swirly black cape. The body seemed slightly hunched but as the stepped forward, he stood up to his full height and fairly dwarfed John who barely came up to the beasts chest. Finally the creature’s face was visible; two sharp teeth protruding from his lower jaw, two horns on the top of his head, and grey eyes that seemed to stare right into his soul. John was not prepared for it. He gasped loudly and stumbled backwards until his back hit the cell door behind him.  
Harry shrieked loudly and wordlessly but he ignored her as he tried to get himself together. He pressed a hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply in and out several times until his heart rate slowed down. Once his panic subsided somewhat he stepped forward again, looking the beast square in the eye. "I accept."

"Done." The beast growled and John stood ramrod straight, shoulders squared, hands clenched into fists as the monster moved past him and opened the cell door. He heard the beast drag his sister kicking and screaming downstairs, but he couldn't bring himself to turn and watch. This would be the last time he would ever see Harry and he didn't want her to see the terror and sorrow he no doubt had etched on his face.

He moved to the window once they had left the room, watching as the beast threw Harry into the wheeless carriage, which shockingly stood on its own and started walking off. Even from so high up he could hear his sister shrieking. The two of them hadn't always got on, but she sounded so frightened it made him both worried and angry to hear her like that.  
From the stairway he heard a roar that alerted him to the beast's return. John turned to face him head on, refusing to show fear, and glaring at him when he walked back into the room. "You didn't let me say goodbye. I'll never see her again and you didn't even let us say goodbye."

Instead of replying to the accusations, the beast just looked away and gestured to the door."I'll show you to your room."

"My room? But I thought-" John started, but he was cut off by the beast growling in at him.

"Oh course you thought wrong. Your tiny mind is probably incapable of coming to a correct conclusion. Do you want to stay in the tower? No? Well then, follow me." And with a swirl of his dark cape the beast whirled off down the stairs. John stumbled after him, struggling to keep up with the long legs of his host. The halls were dark with hideous gargoyles that seemed to be watching and moving in the flickering candle light of the candelabra the beast was carrying.  
"I, uh, hope you'll like it here." The beast said, voice more gentle then John had heard it so far."The castle is your home now so you can go anywhere you like, except for the West Wing."

"What's in the W-"

"It's forbidden!" The beast yelled and cutting off John's question with a angry sweep of his arm before pulling his cloak tighter around himself and storming off. If he didn't know better, John would say the beast was pouting over his innocently asked question. His damnable curiosity was going to get him in trouble one of these days.

He had to hurry to catch up, not wanting to be left in the dark in the creepy castle. The beast led him to a tall set of double doors and held them open for him. "If you need anything, the servants will attend to you."

John carefully stepped past the beast and into the dark and clearly disused room. It was so dreary he couldn't imagine living the rest of his life there.

"You will join me for dinner. That's not a request!" The beast demanded and slammed the door shut behind him. John stood where the beast had left him until he could no longer hear the monster's footsteps. Once he was alone John walked farther into the room and collapsed onto the bed. He didn't cry, but it was close.


	6. Getting to Know Him

John wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there for, but it wasn’t until there was a knock on the door that he pulled his face from the pillows. “Who is it?” He asked, crossing the room to the double doors.

“Mrs. Hudson, dear.” A kindly woman’s voice said from the other side. He opened the door and his forehead creased in confusion when there was no one on the other side. Surely he hadn’t imagined it? A few hours in this castle and he was already loosing it...

“Thought you might like a cup of tea, dear.” The voice said again and he heard the sounds of porcelain clinking on stone. Looking down he was shocked to see a teapot hopping into the room followed by a tea cup, a sugar bowl, and a milk pitcher.

John jumped backwards in surprise. “But you… you’re a…” He stuttered helplessly as he backed into the wardrobe.

“Oh!” The wardrobe cried, doors opening a bit to catch John as he stumbled. “Careful.”

“This is impossible!” John continued to backed away, this time making for the safety of the bed. Luckily it didn’t start talking as well, he wasn’t sure he could handle it since he had been laying on it for the past hour at least.   
The wardrobe followed him across the room and leaned on the bed so they were face to face. “I know it is, but here we are.” She agreed good-naturedly.

“I told you he was handsome, didn’t I, Martha.” Said the teacup on the floor. John was beginning to suspect all the animated objects in the castle were women.

“Alright Sarah, that’ll do.” The teapot, Mrs. Hudson, said. She poured some tea into the cup, and the sugar bowl and milk pitcher added their contents without comment before the cup skipped happily over to the bed.

Still a little hesitant, John sat on the floor by the tea set and picked up the cup. “Um, thank you.” He said, sipping carefully from his tea. It was odd, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about drinking out of an object that not only had thoughts and feelings, but vocalized them while he was using it. Still, it probably took them a while to hop all the way to his room, and it would be rude to turn them away now.

“That was a very brave thing you did, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly.

“We all think so.” The wardrobe added.

“But my sister, I’ve lost her. Who will look after her?” He couldn’t help but sound as miserable as he felt and the three women looked at him sympathetically.

“Don’t you worry dear, Sherlock isn’t as bad as all that. It’ll all turn out, you’ll see.” John could only assume that Sherlock was the beast, and he couldn’t see anything about the man that would prompt the loving tone Mrs. Hudson used when she talked about him. “Oh, just look a me chattering on while I have a supper to get on the table. Come along, Sarah.”

“Good bye.” The cup said with a smile before hopping out the door after the rest of the tea set. This was by far the oddest day of his life.

“We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Clara.” The wardrobe said as she got up and walked back across the room. “Now what are we going to dress you in for dinner? Oh, let’s see what I’ve got in my drawers.”

Clara opened up her doors and promptly slammed them shut again when several moths flew out. “How embarrassing!” She said sheepishly but laughed it off as she opened up again to look at her assortment of clothes. Already John could tell he was going to like her. Clara was upbeat and friendly, though by her level of enthusiasm he guessed it had been a while since there had been any guests in the castle- and who knew how long she had been locked away in this room. It was horrifying to think about.

The doors were much more flexible than any wood that John had ever seen and he assumed it was the same magic that had made all these people objects that allowed her and the others such a high level of dexterity. She hooked a very expensive looking tuxedo on the edge of her door and held it out to John. “What about this one? You will look simply ravishing!”

John fended off the offered clothes and shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but I won’t be going to dinner.”  
“What? But you must!” Clara said, and once again offered him the tuxedo.

Before he got a chance to answer, the door swung open and he heard the sound of wood pattering on the floor. A wooden clock with silver fringe walked into the room and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Dinner. Is served."

The clock (named Lestrade, he learned) did not take the news that he wasn’t going to dinner very well. He had started off being understanding but adamant that John still needed to go. From there he moved on to disapproving, telling him how upset Sherlock was going to be with him- which quite frankly John didn’t care about. Finally, after John still refused to budge, Lestrade left in a huff. John had hoped that he would be left alone for the rest of the night, but when he heard a loud roar from downstairs a couple minutes later, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.   
The beast pounded on the door so hard that he John saw the sturdy wood shudder in its frame, realizing the lock wouldn’t hold if the creature really wanted to get in.

“I thought I told you to come to dinner!” He roared. John saw Clara flinch and it made him quite angry in return. What right did that monster have to order people around like that? And obviously the staff was frightened of him.

“I’m not hungry!” He shouted back defiantly, crossing his arms firmly across his chest even though Sherlock couldn’t see it.

“You come out or I’ll…I’ll…I”ll break down the door!” Obviously Sherlock was used  to getting his own way if John’s refusal so threw the beast.

“Go ahead!” If he did break down the door and try and attack him, John planned to smash the water pitcher over the beast’s head. He had already double checked with Clara already that it was an ordinary watcher pitcher and not alive in any way.

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think that this is the way to win his affection.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice said on the other side of the door. It was barely audible through the thick wood, but John had no trouble picking up the dry sarcasm in her tone.

“Please, Sherlock, attempt to be a civilized human being.” Lestrade’s gruff voice said, sounding exasperated.

“But he is being so difficult.” Sherlock grumbled.

“Gently, gently.” Mrs. Hudson was there as well it seemed. John was beginning to suspect that they thought he couldn’t hear them, or at least he hoped so since the alternative was that they were speaking about him and just didn’t care if he heard their plans to trick him out.

“Please will you come down to dinner?” The beast grumbled like a reluctant child being forced to mind his manners.

“No.”

He heard them all whispering amongst themselves again before Sherlock ground out another invitation, sounding physically pained as he restrained his obvious temper. “It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner…please.”

“No thank you!” Why wouldn’t he just leave? Obviously John wasn’t going to be good company right now and he doubted he could sit down at a table loaded with cutlery and not be tempted to stab the monster.

“You can’t stay in there forever!” Sherlock yelled, giving up on false manners.

“Yes I can!” John was starting to get flashbacks of his childhood fights with Harry, which almost always ended up being ‘are too, are not’ in the end.

“Fine! Then go ahead _and starve_!” The sheer amount of disdain the man managed to convey in his tone would have been impressive if John had been in any state to appreciate it but right now he was just too angry. He heard another roar from the other side of the door followed by heavy footsteps as the beast stormed off. It was quiet after that.  
The next several hours he spent fuming or chatting with Clara. She was sympathetic but obviously worried about ‘Master’ Sherlock’s temper and the consequences of John’s refusal. Not that John cared. Quite frankly he would rather starve than let himself be bullied.

“Oh come on now, the master isn’t that bad once you get to know him. Why don’t you give him a chance?” Clara asked several minutes after Sherlock had stormed off and John sat fuming on the bed. The wardrobe was sitting next to him and he knew she was doing her best to cheer him up as well as soften him up.

“I don’t want to get to know him. I don’t want anything to do with him!” John didn’t like raising his voice at ladies, but he was just so angry and he didn’t want Clara or any of the other furniture trying to con him into being whatever it was the master wanted him to be. It certainly wasn’t being a prisoner since nobody would invite a prisoner to dinner.. Or let them out of the tower for that matter.

Luckily Clara was smart enough to know when to let the subject go and she went back to her traditional place by the wall while John threw himself on the bed and sulked.

It was several hours later before John dared emerge from his room. He actually hadn’t planned on leaving his it at all, but his traitorous stomach decided to remind him that he hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. There was no clock in his room so he wasn’t sure if it was very late at night or very early in the morning, but either way the beast would most likely be sleeping leaving it safe enough to venture down to the kitchen.

Clara was snoring away when he sneaked past her to the door, and she didn’t even flinch at the loud click when he unlocked it. Opening it a sliver he opened it a sliver and peeked out, but he could see no sign of either the beast or any moving objects. The coast was clear.


	7. Be Our Guest

Luckily the door hinges were well oiled, and the doors didn’t creak when he opened the door or closed it behind him. The halls were dark and very little light came through the windows since it was snowing outside and the clouds obliterated the full moon. Now came the real task of finding the kitchen. He felt it safe to assume that it would be on the ground floor but he had only seen the entry hall before he had gone searching upstairs when looking for Harry.

He went down the hallway from the opposite direction he had first come from, knowing that way led since he knew that way led back to the tower, but it took him several tries to find the stairs- and , once he got to the ground level, even attempts to actually locate the kitchen. The castle was just so huge and it was all too easy to get turned around.

John was about to resign himself to starving to death before ever finding the kitchen the labyrinthine castle when he finally found himself in front of a large set of doors that was tucked far out of the way of the fancier rooms like the dining room, or what appeared to be a study. He heard voices as he pushed the door open but though he couldn’t make out what they were saying he was positive it wasn’t Sherlock speaking., and at this point he was desperate enough to risk talking to the staff.

Whatever they were talking about before he entered they immediately cut off once they noticed him. The wooden clock from earlier spun around and tottered over to him with a smile that looked more like a grimace on his face. “Aw, hello again.” He said in a tone that was actually friendlier than John was expecting considering their last encounter.

“Um, hello, Lestrade was it?” John asked.

Lestrade nodded and held out a hand which John promptly bent to shake; moving object or not, his manners would allow for nothing else. Before he could take it a candelabra dashed up and took his hand first, a feather duster huffing and puffing at her side. The candelabra didn’t have a hand so much as two prongs that seemed to function as her arms with a candle on the end of each which she seemed to use as hands. John couldn’t help but wonder how she got anything done since it had to restrict her dexterity severely.

“Sally Donavan. I just have to say it was great the way you stood up to the freak like that. Everyone here is too afraid, with him being the master and all.” She said enthusiastically as she shook his hand.

The feather duster nodded in agreement. “Wouldn't put it past him to smash one of us.”

“My goodness!” Mrs. Hudson gasped, sounding scandalized by the very idea. Lestrade glared at them.

“Now I don't want to hear any more talk like that. We have a guest and we don't need you two giving him the wrong idea.” The clock gave them one last firm look before sighing wearily and turning back to John. “I assume you came down here for a reason, yeah? What can we do for you?”

“Oh. Well, um, I was a bit hungry actually and-”

“Did you hear that? He's hungry!” The teapot said excitedly and jumped into action. “Stoke the fire. Break out the silver. Wipe the china!”

At her command the stove grinned excitedly and fire rose up from its burner as it set about looking through the pots of what had to be dinner from earlier. The drawers flew open and dozens of cutlery stood up at the ready while dishes clambered from the shelves on their own. John was still not use to the idea of animated objects and watched in amazement as they moved about purposefully. He also found it amusing how Mrs. Hudson was something of a general in the kitchen, leading her loyal troops into battle. Or at least dinner.

“Remember what the master said.” Lestrade said in annoyance as the dishes arranged themselves into neat piles on the counter under Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye.

“Oh tosh, I'm not about to let the poor boy go hungry.” She said dismissively and turned her back on him.

“Fine! A glass of water, a crust of bread, but that's it.” The clock said, irritated by being overruled, but apparently not going to argue with the woman.

“Come on, Greg, you're the one who was saying he wasn't a prisoner . It's our job to make him feel welcome.” Sally said.

“And if it makes the freak angry, then it works out just that much better.” The feather duster piped in for the first time.

“Anderson!” Lestrade snapped, but whatever he was going to say was lost when Sally led John through the door to the dining room. He walked up to a large wooden table and was confused when he realized that there were no chairs. Before he could even ask where he should sit he heard the scuttling of wooden legs on the floor and the seat of a chair ran into the back of his knees, causing him to collapse onto it. The chair was quite well cushioned and it wasn't a bad landing, but there was something unsettling about being ambushed by furniture.

Sally climbed up onto the table followed shortly by Lestrade, who continued to look rather stressed , but didn't complain as large serving trays started walking down the length of the table from where they had been dropped off by serving carts.

“So what would you like? We have soup, hors d'oeurves ?” She asked while the food was uncovered by the dishes and trailed past him.

John looked at one dish as it walked passed him and stuck his finger in some sort of gray paste that turned out to be rather delicious. “That's fantastic.” He said and the little tray danced in excitement.

“Well of course. This is France and the food here is never second best.” Lestrade said matter-of-factly.

Something about that seemed odd to John and his brow furrowed in confusion. “France? But if we're in France then why are we speaking English?”

“Oh look, beef ragu, cheese suffle, pie, pudding.” Sally interuptted as the stated dishes paraded themselves in front of John and promptly distracted him. A beer stein waddled over and stood by John's elbow while plates were loaded with food and sat in front of him. It was all so delicious and he tried to taste a bit of everything. How they had prepared such a vast amount of food in such a short time he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to complain either. He stuffed himself with as much as he could hold, not wanting to offend the staff that had worked so hard and obviously were very keen to impress, but he felt there was something missing.

“Was that one lump or two, dear?” The now familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson asked. He looked down to see her sitting on a serving cart with a full tea service. Happily he took a cup and sipped what had to be the most fabulous tea of his life.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” He said and she beamed. John had a feeling that if she had arms Mrs. Hudson would have patted him on the arm like a dotting mother. “Thank you all, really. I've never had a finer meal in all my life.”

“It was our pleasure.” The clock said, trying not to look pleased at the compliment and failing spectacularly. Sally was off talking to Anderson, who was doing his job and dusting the table clean of food crumbs while the dishes, napkins, and other assorted items made their way back to the kitchen. Lestrade waved the stragglers away before turning back to John. “Look at the time. Well you should be getting off to bed.”

It was a transparent attempt to get him back to his room and locked up like Sherlock had ordered, but John was in to good a mood to really mind. Besides, he had the feeling that Lestrade was doing it more to keep order then any real desire to see John locked up.

“Oh. Well, I couldn't possibly sleep now. It's my first time in an enchanted castle- or any castle really. I would fancy a look around.” John stood and the chair scuttled off to wherever it had come from.

“Enchanted? Who said anything about enchanted? Sally!” Lestrade barked and the candelabra hopped over quickly.

“Sir?” She asked.

“Did you say anything about this being an enchanted castle?” He had an undertone of warning in his voice and John had a feeling that things would not go well for Sally if he didn't speak up.

“I figured it out myself.” He said dryly as a stray fork dashed across the table in front of him. “I'd like to look around. If that's alright?”

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea.” Lestrade said, but again it was only a halfhearted protest.

“Would you take me?” John asked suddenly. The clock was obviously the man in charge of the staff and would probably feel more comfortable letting John look around if he was personally there to supervise.

“Well alright, but just a quick one.” The man caved and soon they were leaving the dining room.


End file.
